


The Greatest Trick of All

by NoRezNoHealzJUSTGUN (StolenVampires)



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Cunnilingus, Dom Loki, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Exposition, F/M, Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Literary References & Allusions, Look i just wanted a fic that could be literally any female lover, Nameless Female, PWP, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Voice Kink, and either way its fucking great, and you could make it literally about the norse mythos or marvel, because i love the lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenVampires/pseuds/NoRezNoHealzJUSTGUN
Summary: He is a God of Chaos, Lies, Mischief. Liesmith, Trickster, Silvertongue. Serpent. Wolfish. Prince. King. Monster. Man.He is all these things but as he holds her and kisses her, she knows what he is better than any other, and she loves him in all his forms and faces, all his names and titles. She is his love, she alone knows the what he is beyond all his gravitas. She alone knows the one trick he has played over the entire world, and she would have him no other way.(Can be read as a nameless OFC, Read-insert, Sigyn, or just some rando woman. I just wanted to write some smut with character analysis because that's my jam)





	The Greatest Trick of All

There was passion in his movements. The way he ground into her hips and kept his cock in the cleft of her ass. A mockery of their carnal acts, yet it set a flame inside them both that would not be smothered by time nor duty. He kept her body under him, arms beside her head, holding her up on her forearms so she’d not sink into the too soft mattress while he tormented her trembling form with his body, with soft touches that she knew only stalled his rougher embrace that would follow. His passion was obsession and domination, her submission and subjugation. She moaned for him, begged for him and his mercy, but he had none to offer her.  
She was his, she had surrendered to this agony, this sweet torment, and he would use it against her until she burned herself up with desire and need for him and his offered satisfactions. Her body was his to rule, and rule her he did. 

Bare and desperate, she did not dare to disobey him, dared to not move from the position he left her in because disobedience would be met with harsh, cruel reprimand. It would not be kind or loving or gentle. It would be brutality and carnal conquest of her body for his needs and none left for her.

Yet this too, she submits herself for. His passion, his fury, his wrath.  
It was his love, though he had long ago said he could not love her; it was the one luxury he could not afford. But he could rule her, dominate her, show her the stars hidden in her own eyes and in her body, trapped until a moment of pure rapture and bliss. When his name was torn from her lips at his command and all that was around her was him. His scent. His touch. His voice. His essence. 

He kissed down her spine, whispering promises of his tongue, her taste on his lips and his craving for the gift of her slick. Her desire born of her own depravity and need for him. A man who would rule worlds, be a God among men, yet would never admit a part of him was ruled by such a base thing as lust. A craving as simple as the comforts of flesh. A need for a body to hold at night and call his own. She submits to him, because just as she needs him, he needs her. And he will always have her.

Shaking on her hands and knees, she spreads her legs further apart as his fingers pushed at her thighs. Gently, oh so tormenting, gently he tells her his secrets, his plans for her, for them. And each one that spills from his lips, she feels a bit more of herself spill away from her slit, dripping down her skin in an obscene display.

“My dear one.” He calls her, hands at her folds, parting them and exposing her glistening cunt to his view. She knows what he must see. A wanting whore of a woman, pussy thrumming and begging to be filled yet so empty; her hole pulses, silently beckoning his cock, his fingers, his anything.  
“You are so good. My good girl. My perfect little one. You are being so behaved, not moving, making all this sweet juice for me, preparing yourself for me without even using your fingers or hands. Did you eat what I told you to eat? All the fruits and delicacies I left for you this afternoon my dear?” His voice is a weapon, a dagger and it strikes at her core, her center, and she moans loudly into the room, feeling her clit throb with a lack of attention as her body begins to produce more slick. He knows his voice affects her so. He knows, and he uses it like he does every weapon. Like a master.

“Answer me.” His words ghost breath over her wet folds and she cries out. The barest touch of air, cool it stimulates but it is not enough, it could never be enough, but she hears his pleased hum as no doubt, she drips onto the mattress.  
“Yes!” She cries out her answer and he blows on her clit, and she shakes at the sensation. Her eyes are closed, and she feels so much more intensely when he lets her parted pussy lips go, the wet sound of them closing agony as much as the touch lost.

“There we are. I wanted you sweet tonight. You are so delicious normally, I wondered if I could make you taste even sweeter if your diet was more… controlled. Would it please you my dear? To know your cunt is my craving, that your slick makes me hunger for a taste each night?”  
Whimpering she nods her head, licking her lips and panting as her body begs to be touched.

“Taste yourself my doe, lay back and part yourself for my eyes, let me watch you taste yourself.” He reclines next to her, she can feel the dip of the bed and his body heat.  
“I want to drink your cunt from you lips tonight.”  
She rolls as he commanded, eyes opening and meeting his own. It makes her shiver in their intensity, their command and control. Still, she obeys him, legs parting wide, her soaking wet cunt on display as one hand parts her flesh, pink hole open and throbbing begging for fulfillment. The other hand gathers the slick fluid on her fingers, catching as much as she can before being it to her mouth, stray stands catching on her mons and dripping over the plane of her stomach and swell of her breasts.  
He watches it all, following her hand as it slips each finger into her mouth, sucking away her own slick until the last digit is clean and she lift her tongue offering her desire, her desire, for his taste. 

She moans as he leans over her, kissing her chin and cheek before he nips her lip, copper mixing with the salty sweat taste of her arousal. His kiss is messy and wanting, she yields to his tongue as it slips into her mouth, drawing in the offered fluid, letting him guide and direct her until he pulls away, he lips puffing up and his smile wicked.  
“Perfect. Your blood was just the right sharp note to balance the sweet. But, I do think I wish to enjoy the rest of you untainted. And you are untainted yes?” A sound of affirmation leaves her throat and he glides down her body, kissing away the drops that fell onto her skin moments ago. Warm wet spots not decorate her, and she yearns to have him offer more than the press of his tongue and a stolen pass over her body.

She is not tainted, for he was her first, her only, and she will never allow another to have her, not unless he demands it.  
She hopes he never does, because she doubts they would leave her so wanting, so blissed when completed. He alone gives her pleasure in her utter submission, with any other, it would be a lie, a betrayal. 

She knew to not lie. Never lie, not to him, never. She had no reason to, and she trusted him to never lie to her, he had no reason to. She was devoted to him, utterly and completely. When he asks for truths, she offers them; when he asks for lies, she offers truths that sound too sweet to be real yet they are. She loves him. Even when he doubts, even when he rages, even when the world burns, she knows she will love him, and this is her greatest truth and her greatest and only lie. For the moment he falls and leaves her for the afterlife, she will hate him, if only because he will go where she cannot. It is her secret, and it is her truth to tell one day.

But when he kisses her, she moans at his adore, his passion and domination. She loves him, all of him, and he loves her, and her lie sleeps. He will take her like no other. This is what he offers her and she is greedy for it. So greedy, she reached up and tangled fingers in his hair, pulling him back to her, hips lifting and seeking a fulfillment that only he can provide.  
“My dearest, how do I love you like this. Craving me, craving subjugation.” His hands snake over her skin to lift her up, to move her to where he wills her to be, to have her positioned in a pleasing manner for his eyes.  
“You crave this, you yearn to be ruled, to be conquered.” All truth, never lies. She moans his name, begging for him to whisper more at her, to use his voice to cut her open, expose her very soul. He says her name over and over again, a chant and prayer to the stars themselves. His hands glide over her skin, and she lets her body melt for his touch, become pliant and easy for him to mold and shape in a way that will please him, satisfy him. He has moved her to her back, arched she cannot see him, only feel him as his hair teases her sensitive body. Down her chest, he suckles her breasts for a moment, uttering how she will bless him one day. Bless him as he will bless her.  
Children of their union, free of their crimes, innocent of their sins and unknowing of their faults. He yearns for them, and her breasts remind him that he must bless her with his love, his passion, his adore and very soul before she can give him the gift only she can offer him without any restraints.  
He sucks harder on her nipples, biting, growling when there is no milk, no sustenance. But it draws her cry, her passionate placation that soon, soon he will have what he yearns for, what he craves beyond just her.

When he leaves her breasts, they are rosy and sore, they spring and bounce as he cups them and lets them go. One day, they will grow heavy and ripen and he will laugh with joy at the sight of them bouncing as she rides him, takes him to the hilt and cannot stop his admiration of the lewd display she will be giving him.  
He will dream of her like so. He will pray to see her like so. It will be what eases his heart, what will allow him press forward when there seems nothing to fight for. When all is lost, she will wait for him.  
This she knows. She knows this of him because he has told her so, because she has learned his heart, his soul and he has learned her in turn.

When he has sunk to her thighs, he breaths over her heat, kissing her mons. She can feel his stare, his eyes penetrating her well before his tongue delves into her folds. She is hot and he is ice, together they melt into one and she does not fight it. The gentle swirls over her clit, the way he writes her name into her hole, the way her writes his own. She shakes and shudders as he sucks and drinks her fluids, his own greed for her spurning her to offer him more, to satisfy him and placate his insatiable hunger lest she not keep up and lose him so soon, so quickly.

He stops short, leaving her crying at the loss of his cool soothing tongue. Her juices dripping and soaking the sheets under her.  
“I could not help myself. You are so perfect, so sweet. Your lips swollen, puffy from my abuse, pink and ready to take more of my cruelty.” He laughs as she whimpers, her cunt spread open and desperate for him.  
“Do you want it, my sweet doe? My little one? Do you wish to die by me? Sheath myself deep into your flesh until you breath your last breath?” He looms over her, hair casting darkness over them both, his eyes glittering like stars and she tells him yes. He is her everything. Space and time are meaningless in this moment as he does what he promised. His cock slips into her and she screams in euphoria. 

He fills her so completely; her body screams in protest at the size of him. He is no normal man, he is a god. A giant among gods. He is nothing like them, he is better, true in all he does, all he is. She loves him for it. For his nature, for his essence. Her walls flutter with her heartbeat and when he has filled her to the brink, when there is nothing left of him to take. He stills, moaning her name and looking at her with such affection and tenderness she knows him better than any other. 

He is madness, he is destruction, he is a loss of control, the absence of all order. He is chaos given flesh, and that is his passion for her. His love for her, his devotion to her as he leans in and kisses her with all he is. Only she knows this of him, and she will never tell of it. For chaos is the way of being weak, of being venerable when you cannot be so. Chaos is of giving up so completely that you cannot help what you become. And as he makes love to her, his hand wrapping in her own she becomes all he needs. 

He thrusts into her slow and gentle, taunting her as his body thrums with power in the movement of his muscles, the way they flex under his skin as he slides in and out of her. He could hurt her in so many ways, for pain or pleasure, yet in this moment he needs her. He wants her to come undone from his tender twisted love. His mouth hovers by her ear as her name spills from his lips, waking her love for him to the greatest heights. Only truth, he gives this to her, his trust and faith. His weakness is her, his love. His love is his chaos, his loss of all control.

And when she says his name, he cries out, hips sinking into her as he pulls back enough to look in her eyes, so full of trust, in love. He smiles and begins to guide them both through their passion. Harder and harder he thrusts. He relents each time she begins to rise in her pleasure. He holds them back, forces them both the sweet bitter agony of denial. Her submission and whimpers entice him further, her sobs and cries for release from his torment and torture only serves to intensify them. 

His keeps one hand tightly holding one of her own. It grounds them both, tethers them to reality as they lose sight of everything but each other, all but their relentless chaos and what they might create so long as they remain as one. She is his home, his safe haven, his lover and greatest gift. She is all he wanted when he did not yet know what it was he truly wanted. He was once nothing she wanted or needed, yet he has shaped her into more than she would ever had been. He gave her truths when he was called a liar. He gave her life order where all others saw chaos. Where others saw tricks and mischief, she saw gifts and laughter. He brought to her light where all others saw but darkness. 

She is his love, and as he brings her to the cusp of pleasure and release his eyes burn red, his body stills and she feels him there, waiting for her. For her to let go to him.  
“Say my name.”  
He asks for it, for her love and her worship. He asks for her submission and supplication. Offerings and affirmations. He asks for his name, because in his name is power, it is a truth. It is the truth that it is him in her arms, and no other, that she is his, just as he is her’s.

She says his name with all the love she can, loud and full of knowing that one day, after she bears him sons, after he becomes beyond a mere God and rises to become a king, she will be there. His shelter, his safe haven, his lover and greatest trick.

“Loki.”

They do not sigh nor scream as they offer up their hearts and souls. They kiss, and she feels him offer fulfillment of his promise, a desperate wish of man who craves what he does not know he wants. His seed fills her, and she welcomes it, prays to any who might hear her that she can make his dreams real, that she can give him all he deserves and yearns for. 

One day, he will end the world and she will weep, she will mourn. But as she lay in his arms, smiling at her prince, at the man who tricked his heart and her’s without knowing how, she is at peace with her choice to be his. To submit, to give in. 

He is Chaos given flesh. He is passion in it’s basest form.  
His is Lies personified. He is the one who brings forth light from ugly truths.  
He is Mischief given power. He is cunning in all it’s ways. 

He is the God who is not a God.  
He is an Asgardian who is not of Asgard.  
He is a Monster who is only just a man.  
The Trickerster, the Liesmith, the Silvertongue. The one who will bring forth the end, who will begin Ragnarok. 

She Loves Him.  
And for now, that is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> ITS EXACTLY 3k WORDS I FEEL PROUD OF THIS FACT OKAY


End file.
